


Five Gold Rings

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Arthur Conan Doyle Canon References, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Sequence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Watson's Woes WAdvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Five drabbles. Five gold rings. Five snippets of Holmes and Watson through the years.





	Five Gold Rings

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пять золотых колец](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15069581) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> Warnings: Vague references to various canon events; canon-typical violence; about as much plot as can be expected from drabbles
> 
> Author’s Notes: Written for WAdvent 2017 over on Watson's Woes. Happy WAdvent, everyone! Some of these drabbles could be interpreted as being related to other drabbles and stories I've written, but prior reading isn't required to enjoy these on their own.

**1\. A Cold Case in the Country**  
  
Holmes and I walked to the village inn, my friend relating his deductions in great clouds of breath in the bitter cold. The chill bit into my war-wound, and I wondered wearily if I would ever be fully well.  
  
Our landlady was already abed, but a lamp in the frost-whitened window lit the way with a ring of gold. She had also left a cold supper for us in our room, and warming-pans tucked beneath the covers of our beds.  
  
“I am glad you could come with me today, Watson,” Holmes remarked. “Your presence was remarkably helpful.”  
  
I smiled, warmed.   
  
  
**2\. Irregular Feed**  
  
I don’t know who was more surprised: myself, when I beheld the brown skin, regal features, and turban of Holmes’ client; the client, when I used a Hindi salutation; or Holmes, beholding the small group of Irregulars crouched among his client’s children.  
  
“We’ve kept a keen eye out,” Wiggins assured Holmes at the end of his report. A yellow ring of curry stained the skin around his mouth. “Just as you ‘ired us to do, but when ‘Omer let on to the others about Ma Gupta’s porridge – well, we ‘ad volunteers. The strange stuff's the tastiest stew I’ve ever et.”   
  
  
**3\. Burning Midnight Oil**  
  
Thick black smoke rolled over the dark water, surrounding us, making it nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.  
  
I tightened my grip on Holmes’ limp form.   
  
My blast-deafened ears could not hear him breathing. My numb fingers could not feel any stirring of life under the hand I used to keep his head above the frigid water.   
  
All around us, burning oil floated in patches and rings, blazing golden against the black water. Beautiful and deadly and useless; not enough light to show me if Holmes still lived.  
  
I swallowed my fears and kept swimming.  
  
  
 **4\. Lost and Lost**  
  
I put down my pen hastily as my too-loose ring threatened to slip from my finger and fall off.  
  
Irresistibly, I remembered the day I _had_ lost it – or at least misplaced it and its smaller twin. Holmes found them.  
  
“Keep them for now?” I asked. “They’re safer with you. I trust no one more,” I added truthfully.  
  
Holmes kept our rings in his pocket until we reached the church.   
  
Now Mary’s ring is lost forever, buried with her in the cold ground. Holmes, too, is gone, dead beneath Reichenbach Falls.  
  
All that remains is my ring, and my pen.  
  
  
 **5\. Springtime Watch**  
  
There were few other Londoners in the park. Holmes walked lost in thought, largely silent, eyes distant.  
  
He stopped at one of the prettiest parts, our path encircled by daffodils blazing yellow. I doubt he saw them. His eyes were fixed on my face. “Watson, I must apologize,” he said abruptly.  
  
He did not have to say for what. “Did you see another way?”   
  
“No, but - ”  
  
“Then it's forgotten.” I glanced at the outline of a cigarette-case in his waistcoat pocket, next to the gold ring of his watch-chain. “The past is past. And I have already forgiven.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted December 17, 2017


End file.
